


Stories of Thedas Volume II

by inquizitea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dragon Age Lore, F/M, Gen, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Multi, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29949879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquizitea/pseuds/inquizitea
Summary: Short pieces for March 2021 Stories of Thedas Volume II
Relationships: Dalish (Dragon Age: Inquisition)/Solas, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 4





	1. An Ode to Dragon Age Campfires

What is it about campfires that offer the promise of intimacy?

Is it that its warmth only pervades the chill when huddled near?

Is it the smell that threads itself through and into you. Lingering long after the embers, lasting until you wash the memory clear?

Is it the sparks that crackle and float from the rest, drifting and sparkling into the night until they vanish as quickly as they appeared?

Maybe it’s the way the flickering light looks on her face as she turns to laugh at what you say.

Maybe it’s the way the glow makes his eyes a trap you’d gladly fall into, splitting yourself open amidst the tide of raw emotion’s bay.

Maybe it’s the revelation that, in this moment, not much matters outside the circle of warm, orange light. Quite possibly nothing exists outside the light’s edged fray.

Entire lives could be lived between the shadows the campfire throws into the atmosphere.

Entire loves could be forged on the tendrils of the rising smoke dissipating all fear.

Entire pasts could be forgotten among the languid stories you hear.

They invite the whispering of, “your tent or mine?”

They coax the soft touch of a hand brushing yours, a moment shared between two people and the fire that forged them in time.

They comfort and soothe the brittle bones that threaten to burst under the burden of one more responsibility, one more pressure point on a fractured line.

In its light all battles are won; the melody of burning logs releasing doubts without a trace.

In its warmth all love is solidified; the only place offering more comfort lies in his embrace.

In its circle darkness never permeates; the friendship of these souls erasing the memory of loneliness’s face.

Surely he can feel how her love and desire rises higher than the smoke could ever dream to when her eyes catch his, holding all the world’s allure.

Surely she can see right through him, into all his hidden secrets, as the glow burns through his weakly held barrier.

Surely the world lays itself bare at all of their feet as the fire entices them closer, begging to consume more.

In the morning his eyes feel colder, but his hands reach toward hers more freely, the fire having molded one more thread he’ll one day have to sever.

In the morning what was only thought of as fantasy by the singed grass is now cemented into resolved fervor.

In the morning, they pack and leave never glancing back towards where they scorched the earth, never knowing the fire left a brilliant mark on their souls, never feeling how all their paths danced on the firelight, a magnificent whirl of possibilities containing the entire past, present, and future.


	2. Shiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan fluff 'cause why not. And yes I may have been inspired by Madonna's song.

Lavellan rolled over in bed to face Solas, “You make me feel shiny.”

“You are shiny,” he responded as he brushed her hair away from her face. She smiled.

“Perhaps. But when I’m with you, you make me feel shinier.” He searched her eyes for the intent behind her words.

She breathed out a sigh at his questioning gaze. “You love me in a way that makes me feel new. Top-shelf. Desirable.” Solas brought a hand from her hair and traced it along her side, resting it against her back.

“You are all of those things, I would love you no other way.” He pressed against her back, drawing her closer to him.

She was shiny and new. She was confident and determined. She smiled easily and laughed freely. She was inquisitive and thoughtful. She wasn’t brash, she listened closely. She was everything he thought someone should be. Even her occasional stubbornness showed she stood for something and believed in her own intuitiveness. She was a flower blooming on a mountainside. Amidst strife she persevered. It was inevitable he would love her. It now came as natural as breathing.

“Your love and steadiness brings out those qualities as well though. What I’m trying to say,” she shifted so their bodies pressed against each other, angling to ensure she could still look in his eyes, “Is that you love me like no other. Your love builds me up. Your love makes me shine brilliantly. I hope my love can do the same for you.”

Solas felt his heart ache strangely at her declaration. For a moment, he was cornered. Two sides of him warred. One wanted nothing more than to hold her hand and never let go, experience life together. The other whispered his past failures, forever reminding him that if he tried to fix what he wrought he would ultimately ruin her. 

It lasted a heartbeat. He brought his head down, pressing his forehead to hers, hoping she could hear how much he meant his next words. He may destroy her one day, but until then he would ensure she was loved as she deserved.

“You, too, make me feel shiny. And new.” Then she smiled brilliantly and all the dark corners of Solas glowed under her love. All his thoughts fled as he revelled in their love.

Solas flitted his eyes from her eyes to her lips, bent down and whispered, “Lasan ara'sa. Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” She kissed him, chasing that endearment. They twisted and melted into each other, basking in the feeling of never having been loved by another so fully before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Lasan ara'sa. Ar lath ma, Vhenan” - I give you my soul. I love you, my heart.


	3. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluffflufffluff

Solas watched the Inquisitor’s hands as she cast a spell, stalks of gladiolus drifting up to twirl and rest on Bull’s horns. He watched her face light in laughter as she repeated the process, forming a crown of blooming daisies on Cole’s head. Finally, she turned to him and his eyes were lost in hers as her magic plucked a single red tulip and rested it behind his left ear. 

“There,” she said, “now we’re armored thoroughly.”

Cole looked at the Inquisitor, “But you forgot yourself! You need armor too!”

Solas rode closer to the Inquisitor. “Cole is correct. Our leader needs to be armored appropriately as well.”

And then he lifted a hand, casting his own spell. Dozens of yarrow flowers in a kaleidoscope of colors rained down on her, caressing and settling amongst her hair, resting on the backs of her hands, and trailing up and down the back of her mount. Her ears flushed crimson as she grinned at Solas. “You’ve almost plucked this meadow full, ma’lath.”

“Had I showered you with all the flowers in this world it would not be enough, Vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladiolus - Strength of character  
> Daisies - Innocence, hope  
> Red Tulips - passion, a declaration of love  
> Yarrow - Everlasting love


	4. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Lavellan meet in a coffee shop. Modern au-ish.

They met in a coffee shop.

He’d recently moved to town. The coffee shop was located near his apartment. One morning he saw the daily special, “Special: Boost your mental health with our ginseng BRAIN TEA.” Solas sighed. He couldn’t help but be curious, so he’d ordered it. He took his saucer and sat down at a table near the window and opened his newspaper. 

Naturally, the grimace appeared on his face after the first sip. He heard a laugh.

“Not a fan of tea?” He looked up to see who spoke. A Dalish elf peered over her coffee, glancing pointedly at the teacup in his hand.

He set the teacup back down, “No. I detest the stuff.”

She smiled brightly, “Couldn’t resist the claim of it increasing your brain three sizes then?”

He laughed. “I would be a poor researcher had I not attempted to confirm their claims. Such as it is, I fear they were baseless.” 

She stood up and gathered her things. “Perhaps their next special will be more accurate,” she was even with his table now and nodded her head, “I hope the rest of your day is better than that drink.” And then she left.

Solas found himself smiling at the remembrance of that interaction the rest of the day.  
_________

A few days later, he popped back into the coffee shop, perhaps subconsciously hoping that woman would be there. As he approached the counter he noticed a new special on the chalkboard “Special: Researchers GUARANTEE this tea increases reading retention!”

Solas sighed and ordered it. 

A creature of habit, he once again sought the table by the window. He pulled out a newspaper and began to read. He finally brought the teacup to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. His eyes widened in surprise as a coughing fit shook him.

“Not much better, huh?” He looked up, stifling the coughs. It was her.

“Worse, in fact.” He could feel the tips of his ears flush. He straightened and looked back up at her, clearing his throat “I should have expected less. The combination of rosewater and thyme was suspect to begin with.”

She smiled broadly and Solas felt stunned for a moment. “Couldn’t resist their claim again then?”

A corner of Solas’ mouth twitched upwards, “I was...intrigued.”

There was a brief pause and Solas was about to offer the chair opposite his for her to join him, when she said, “Well, I’ll tell whoever writes those special boards they shouldn’t be putting preposterous claims on there.” She walked away, then briefly looked over her shoulder, “See you around.”

Once again, Solas felt that brief interaction with her color his entire day. She surprised him and he found her countenance and cleverness intriguing. 

_________

Solas began making it a habit to visit the coffee shop every morning before work. It took a week before a new special board appeared.

“Special: Tall, bald elves LOVE this tea!”

Solas blushed as a laugh escaped him. He approached the counter and the cashier smirked at him, “No need. I think you should get the special.”

Solas waited as they prepared it, then once again took it to his table.

The blend was sweet, a mixture of strawberries and honey. Solas still winced at the first sip.

“Is this seat taken?” Solas glanced up and there she was. 

“Please.” He gestured toward the seat, and she sat, showing a gracefulness that tugged at Solas’ chest.

Her nose crinkled in a smile. “Thoughts?”

“Better. Although the tea ruins it.”

She threw her head back and laughed, “Would you have preferred a cup of strawberries covered in honey instead?”

“That does, in fact, sound appetizing.” He wanted to make her laugh again, it was mesmerizing. “I worry the person who writes the specials is holding a grudge against me.”

She chuckled and leaned back. “I doubt that. Maybe they’re just trying to convert you.”

“A lost cause such as it is.”

“How would you write the special boards then?”

“How about, Tea: for people who hate nice things.” There. She laughed again and a bloom filled Solas’ chest at the sound.

She leaned forward towards him, elbows resting on the table and introduced herself. Solas found himself mirroring her actions, leaning towards her. “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

“New to town, Solas?”

“Yes, I transferred for work. I teach at the University.”

She brushed a strand of hair across her shoulder and Solas watched her delicate fingers brush her neck. “You look like a professor.”

He tilted his head. “In what way?”

“The way you dress,” she smirked, “and the way you hold yourself. It’s very confident and sure. Reminds me of my professors standing at the front of the room, lecturing.” A clue towards her age. 

“Do you study at the University?”

“I did. I’ve graduated. Got a double degree in Antiquities and Governmental Relations.” His brows raised at that.

“An interesting combination.”

“Isn’t it though? Most people laugh at me for it.”

“Learning is never an objective to laugh at.” He pressed a hand to his chest. She grinned.

“Spoken like a true professor! And what do you teach?”

“History, mainly.”

They kept chatting. She told Solas how she now worked for a non-profit dealing with lobbying the government for services on behalf of under-represented groups.

“A noble cause.” He said.

“I think so.” She responded.

Solas found himself enraptured by the way she spoke and how she listened. The conversation felt equal with neither dominating, both responding in equal fashion to what the other had to say. He wondered how long it had been since he’d had a conversation such as this.

She then glanced at the clock. “I really hate to end this, but I have to go. Work starts soon.”

He glanced down at his watch and realized he was already late for his own office hours. She gathered her things and stood. “I enjoyed this conversation, Solas. I hope to see you again sometime.”

“As have I, lethallan. More than you know.” He responded. She blushed slightly and left with a wave. 

Solas found it difficult to focus on his lectures for that day, remembering the sound of her laugh and the depth of her eyes. 

______

It wasn’t a week later when a new special appeared on the board.

“Special: A tea brewed for handsome Elves named Solas.”

He felt himself flush. Another sensation flooded his limbs, a giddy feeling of joy. 

“I’ll have the special.” He said to the cashier, who winked at him. Solas pretended he didn’t see it.

WIthout looking around the coffee shop, he carefully set up at his table.

The special was a white tea blend of lemon and blueberry with a single sugar cube melting at the bottom. It was the most pleasing yet. He looked up as he swallowed his first sip and smiled as he caught her eye, making her way towards him.

Without asking, she sat in the seat opposite him.

“Thoughts?”

“Better,” he set the teacup down, “although still a lost cause, I presume. The essence of tea is bitter and it’s hard to mask that.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“I’m guessing you had something to do with the special signs as well?” He asked, smirking.

“Of course. Who do you think writes them?” It was his turn to laugh as he felt a warm sensation spreading through him, the word handsome echoing in his mind.

“I hope the specials aren’t meant to attract many customers, as I’m sure not many share my name.”

“Oh, it was just meant to attract one.”

“Well, I am indeed.” Pride spread through his chest as she flushed deeply at his words. 

She glanced at her nails briefly, then straightened her shoulders and looked up at him. “I think we should go on a date.”

It was his turn to flush. She was asking him? But she was bright and lovely and he felt stiff in her presence. Still, his heart lurched.

“I’m glad all my tea drinking finally led to something pleasant.” They sat there, smiling at each other. Finally, she reached into her bag and brought out a pen and paper. 

“Here’s my number.” She got up and slung her bag across her shoulder. “I hope you’ll call soon.” Then she winked and left.

Solas walked on air the rest of the day. He considered what was deemed socially acceptable. He should wait at least three days to call her, better a week so as not to appear eager. He’d immediately programmed her number into his phone, but kept the piece of paper tucked carefully into his jacket pocket.

He lasted the day. When pacing his apartment no longer held his interest, he pulled up her contact and pressed the phone to his ear as it began to ring. She answered.

“Hello?”

“Ah...hello. This is Solas.”

“I was just thinking of you.”


	5. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tiny piece

Sera burst into the room, “I am an agent...of CHAOS.”

Cries of “NO” and “Stop” and “Don’t you dare!” and “Sera, I swear to the Creators!” erupted as Sera held a large jar above her head, then promptly smashed it on the ground. Snorts of laughter could be heard before Sera disappeared behind the slamming door. Wafts of sickly green smoke filled the room, choking its inhabitants.

“Maker, did she throw a stink bomb in here?” Cullen asked, covering his nose and mouth with the crook of his elbow.

“Curly’s got brains and brawn!” Varric retorted.

“Inquisitor, kick her out. These clothes must now be burned,” Dorian said while attempting to open a sealed window.

“Oh you heard her,” the Inquisitor responded, tears streaming down their face, “she’s just acting out the will of chaos. We take them down and the whole system crumbles.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “you are a joke. Help us get out.”


	6. Crafting

She stared down at the twin knitting needles, gently pressing her thumb against the sharp point of one. They looked so delicate, like you could wrap your hands around and effortlessly snap them in two.   
___________

Her grandmother was, by far, the best knitter in the clan. The children swore she used magic, not believing it was possible to move the needles that fast and precise. As a child, she would dutifully hold her arms out while her grandmother wrapped yarn around them, whispering stories in her ear. She loved the soft “clack, clack, clack” the needles made as they came together to twist the yarn into wondrous shapes. 

She was awful at knitting. “You think too much,” her grandmother would scold. She barely understood a basic rib stitch, and even then her edges always curled, her tension often too tight. The other children would ribbit as she frogged rows of crooked lines.

Whenever she did complete a project, lopsided and riddled with dropped stitches, she would sit and marvel at what one single thread of yarn could weave into. She loved to pull and stretch to see all the intricate weaving, believing this must be the most ancient form of magic; to turn something so simple and plain into a complex and intricate tapestry. 

Her grandmother would knit shapes, colors, and love into her own pieces. When she’d ask her grandmother why she loved to knit so much, she would respond, “busy hands call for a steady mind. A steady mind knows no boundaries.”

Lavellan loved her grandmother’s mystical wisdom, never fully understanding their meaning. She supposed that’s why she was never any good at knitting though, her mind was always wandering, always searching for more, always wanting to know. Still, she continued to practice, moreso for the time it meant she would spend with her grandmother than for anything else.

When she left to spy on the conclave, her grandmother pulled her aside. She tucked a deep blue knitted square into her palm. “So you have a piece of home with you always.” On the square was a glittering white halla beneath two figures flying in the stars. She looked at her grandmother who pulled her in close and whispered, “I wrote my stories with needles and yarn. You’ll write yours in the legends of the world, using the stars.” 

She often wondered at those words in the days following the conclave; if maybe perhaps her grandmother knew more than she let on. Had a sense of what was coming. 

She never got the chance to ask.

Time seemed to slip by her like the yarn once did when she pulled apart stitches. Weeks and then months passed as she got swept away by events greater than herself, until she found herself here, holding her grandmother’s knitting needles. Knowing she would never see her or the rest of her clan again. 

She wondered when she had let herself get tangled in the tapestry of this story. Wondered why you only realize your mistakes when it’s too late. 

She reached a hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out the blue square, frayed at the edges from friction. She rubbed a finger over the two figures flying in the sky. She sighed and closed her eyes, revelling in the knitted promise of her grandmother that they one day would see each other again.


	7. 9. The Lonely Wolf

There once was a lonely wolf.

He wasn’t always so. Once he was part of a whole. But the wolf saw others clawing and tearing at the pack. He struck the traitors down. The pack painted him dark. He wore it proudly. He slept for a long time under the shining moon, resting from the battle.

It took a millennia for him to wake.

Once he did the wolf cried at what became of the pack. They were scattered, smaller. They had forgotten. No longer was he the one who saved them. He was the one who doomed them. They painted him darker still. 

So he prowled their dreams, searching for what went wrong. He gnawed his own bones when all the dreams pointed their fingers at his bloodied claws.

The wolf tore himself in two. The wolf tortured himself for his failure. The wolf believed being alone was penance so he kept to the shadows. But the clever wolf had a plan to fix everything.

The tricky wolf donned sheep’s clothing to put back what was lost. The sheep accepted him. The sheep groomed and fed him and made him feel at home. The sheep were not scared. 

Then the clever wolf looked into a pair of equally clever eyes. The lonely wolf tried to swallow his heart, but it left his body just the same. So the wolf rolled over and bared his belly in submission. The wolf bounded and played and forgot he was meant to be lonely. 

The wolf had fallen in love with the moon. When the moon sighed, the wolf howled in turn. When the moon burned in desperation, the wolf ran to hunt her fears down. The moon painted him silver.

The wolf had found a new pack but still felt bound to the first. The wolf was scared to show the moon who he was. The wolf knew it would not survive without the moon’s light. So one sunny day, when the moon wasn’t looking, the wolf left. The wolf was lonely once again. Lonely and tired and broken. 

The moon burned brighter still, her rays reaching for his path. The clever wolf covered it well. 

The lonely wolf paints himself with his head thrown back, crying at the moon. The wolf’s eyes are closed, never knowing there’s a path to salvation and forgiveness that would lead him into the night sky to rest at her side. The lonely wolf is blinded in his grief. The lonely wolf is struck dumb by his pride. 

Still, the moon shines brighter.


	8. Hot Beverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quick dialogue between Solas and Lavellan.

“I just don’t understand!”

“It’s my opinion!”

“Well, it’s WRONG.”

“It is far too bitter for my taste. If one is to indulge in something, it should at least be sweet so it may be enjoyable!”

“It’s not bitter! You’re just not brewing it correctly!”

“It’s grass, in hot water, I doubt the temperature of the water or the length of time in which it is steeped would affect the very essence of what it is.”

“Now you’re just being obtuse. There are different kinds! You don’t even want to give it a fair chance because then you’ll have to admit you’re wrong about something, and Creators help me, you can never do that.”

“Simply because I rarely am.”

“You’re being impossible!”

“I’m perfectly content to let you have your opinion on tea, no matter how much I disagree and worry it must be an ill side effect of the mark.”

“Now, there’s something wrong with me because I enjoy it?”

“Tea tastes sad! And you are not a sad person!”

“Not all tea!”

“Now who is being impossible?”

“Listen. I’m going to leave you to your painting because you are making it very hard for me to talk to you right now.”

“Do not dwell on this long, Vhenan. If I could change my taste buds for you, I would. Alas, if I am subjected to any more tea tastings I will have to file a hazardous workplace complaint with the Inquisition.”

___________

“Here, try this, it’s my favorite blend. It’s sweet! It’s delicate and refreshing and if you don’t like this then…”

Solas takes a sip, tries to hide a grimace.

“All that time you spent in the Fade must have rot your tastebuds.”

He laughs, “I gave it a fair chance, accept defeat. Why is it so important to you that I like it?”

“It’s just...I love it. I enjoyed drinking it with my clan, and the ritual of preparing it with my grandmother. To see you cast it aside like it’s dirty water is insulting! It’s no lesser than any other hot beverage”

“I never insinuated otherwise. We shall agree to disagree on this point.”

“Here,” Lavellan pours a generous amount of honey into the teacup, “should be sweet enough for you now.”

Solas brings the cup to his lips and takes a drag. 

“Are you serious.”

“That’s not half bad now.”

“It’s pure honey. You’re drinking sugar.”

“At least the tea is diluted.”

“Just to spite you I will be drinking only tea for the rest of the week.”

“I do not enjoy drinking tea, I never said I do not enjoy the taste of it on your lips.”

“Sweet-talker.”


	9. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick look into Solas' perspective of Solavellan's first kiss.

“I’m not the one who started with tongue!”

Surely, he didn’t. Did he? He couldn’t quite remember, his actions devoid of conscious decisions. When she boldly kissed him some long hardened piece snapped loose inside him, and when she pulled away an instinct caused his body to react fiercely, knowing if he didn’t feel that way again he would become untethered forever floating on the idea of what her kiss sparked. He craved touch, had been so alone for so long. More recently he craved her touch, her conversation, her companionship specifically. But he couldn’t. No. Best to lock that up. He couldn’t afford to allow himself any pleasure; didn’t deserve it.

Still...that kiss. 

_I’m sorry, my love._ He was dooming them both. It would be kinder in the long run, yes. But, he could no longer deny himself. The pain of never again feeling what he felt when he was with her was unbearable. So he would choose her future for her, again. Had done it before, so what was one more crack in his spirit? Perhaps these memories could carry them through the end of the world. They tasted sweet enough to freeze time. And he knew when she had long faded to dust, he would see her face beneath his eyelids, would reach for her lips in his dreams, would torture himself for dooming this marvelous spirit. So Solas reached for her and sealed their fate wondering how a kiss could be both a blessing and a curse.


	10. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F Inquisitor visits an empty Herald's Rest

She ran her hand across the marked and scarred bar top, remembering moments of slammed pints of beer and drunken stories that used to live here. 

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, exploring the now-abandoned Herald’s Rest, but it hurt nevertheless to see it bare and stripped free of all the people and the memories she loved. The corner where Krem would sit was covered in cobwebs, his chair knocked over. She walked around the stairs to see if Bull’s spot looked any different and found the area covered from floor to ceiling in boxes where she would sit drinking with the Chargers. She placed a foot on the bottom step, wanting to see if the areas above where Sera and Cole once made their own had been similarly scrubbed clean of their presence. Then she decided against it. Perhaps some things are best left as perfect memories. 

She walked back around the bar, feeling desperately alone with no melodious lute playing, no sounds of laughter or cries of defeat at a card game. How could this ramshackle building have once housed so many important people? It just felt...sad. Dusty. No longer special. 

Fingers traced the pole where notices once were stapled. She breathed out a sigh, then pressed her forehead to the wood. There was no going back. There was no way to recapture the memories of the full Inquisition being together again. It felt like dreaming in the Fade, viewing the past through fog instead of experiencing it firsthand. She opened her eyes and walked towards the front door. Whatever she was searching for, she wouldn’t find it here. It would have to be enough knowing there lived a moment in time when she held it all in her hands, when everyone she loved was in one place instead of scattered to the wind. Before walking out, she said a quick thank you to the place that blossomed so many friendships and moments of love, had been a place of respite for so many. 

_So this is it. There’s no going back now._ She thought as she moved forward into the light, firmly shutting the door behind her, knowing she would never again step foot in Skyhold.


	11. Kids

Solas deftly counted all ten fingers and ten toes. Just to be sure. Then he gently traced a finger over each of her pointed ears. Something inside of him cracked and crumbled and forged anew when she pushed a fist toward him. Obediently, he slipped a finger into her clutches. He lowered his head down so he could rest his nose against the crown of her head and breathed deeply, savoring every new and unique smell. He found it hard to describe anything--for once there were no words for what he was feeling or seeing, no words to describe her. She smelled new and fresh, like love. 

She opened her eyes and he prepared to give her everything. Then she cried and his world was torn apart. 

He was startled in remembering his task and finished swaddling her before walking back to the bedroom. His love sat up in bed, exhausted but beaming nonetheless. 

“Oh sweet darling, come here,” she reached out and Solas placed the babe in her arms, settling himself on the bed beside her. He wrapped an arm around Lavellan and pressed his other hand to the top of his child’s head, fearing losing contact with either would set him adrift.

He was overcome with euphoria and joy, the likes of which he had never felt before. Had never believed possible. Nothing mattered but what lived in this room. Nothing mattered but what he held in his arms. His newfound family would be his greatest pride of all.


	12. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad Lavellan is sad.

She had been pushed and pulled in a thousand different directions. Everyone was always wanting more, more, more. At first, they nibbled, and as she offered more they took chunks and heaps of her, leaving her curled in on herself at night. She had no choice but to keep looking forward, one peak down and the chasm would swallow her whole. Every day was standing on the edge of a cliff praying for and against that final push. 

Her heart had been offered and swallowed whole. He took it and then changed his mind. Reminded her to put duty first. She was not allowed anything else.

Her people were decimated. A reminder that one mistake led to drastic consequences. A reminder that there was no home to return to, no one she could truly keep safe. Her past was ripped out from under her.

Even the Gods abandoned her. They had killed Mythal. But Mythal was Flemeth. So were they never Gods? Had the Dalish got that wrong too, just like the Vallaslin Solas kissed away? No one would hear her cries. No one had heard the cries of her people. No one would save them.

The only truth she was faced with, time and time again, was that everyone would leave. 

She tried to listen to Solas’ advice; to harden herself before the battle against Corypheus. But it felt like trying to capture water through your fingers. There were now so many tiny shattered pieces of herself, she couldn’t remember where they all fit. The sharp ache in her chest felt all-consuming. Was the price to pay for saving the world the entirety of her being? Was it worth it?

Yes. It was. She had only to look at the faces at Skyhold, those who sought refuge, to remember that while she lost everything, if she could prevent that pain for someone else, she could maybe ease the raw edges of that ache.

Still, she desperately wanted to talk to the one person who’s absence caused her throat to close. She and Solas danced on the edges of each other’s eyesight. She skirted the edges of hallways, taking roundabout ways to avoid the rotunda. Often, she would enter a room he must have left only moments before, leaving the smell of paint and paper pages as a ghost to greet her. They’d avoided each other since their last conversation where he called their relationship an “emotional entanglement. One that would benefit neither of them.” Those words played on a loop in her head at night. She would stand on her balcony as they assaulted her brain, echoing in the corners, _you are no longer beneficial, he only wanted you for your position, he felt obligated._

No. No, no no. There was something else. She fought against the rage those words built up. He hadn’t lied when he told her he loved her, when he called her his heart. She had seen the truth in his eyes. That truth offered her no comfort now.

So she sought solace in the comfort of others. Varric would coax laughs out of her. Bull offered to let her hit him with a stick, which surprisingly was effective in releasing pent-up aggression. Sera assured her she was too good for that elfy nonsense anyways and did you know she knew exactly how many bees could fit inside the rotunda? Cole would sit in silence with her, offering ways to help she couldn’t bring herself to accept, until finally she told him just sitting with her was balm enough. Dorian offered a more steady companionship. He would sit and read with her, reminding her of her worth, telling her they could always run away to Tevinter when this was all over and terrorize the magisters there.

This was her new family. Her found family. And they cared for her, yet she felt the rumblings of change beneath her. She knew Dorian would feel the call of Tevinter before long. Knew Varric never had any intention of staying forever. Knew Sera would want to go back to tormenting nobles. Knew one of her friends would be Divine before long. Knew everyone had a calling beyond the Inquisition. She couldn’t stop from wondering if there was a place for her outside of this. Once upon a time, she dreamed of travelling with Solas at the end of it all, now that path was closed to her.

She felt a shade, stalking the halls of Skyhold. Looking without seeing at the plans her advisors laid before her. Wearing mask upon mask upon mask to be whatever they needed her to be. She could be a weapon, yes. Use her however they needed, anything to feel beneficial. To feel something.

She found herself in the garden, watching some of the children who had been at Haven, who had lost family and then found themselves at Skyhold, playing together. She watched one of the girls pick a marigold and give it to another. Something snapped and she hunched her shoulders, feeling her chest cave in. Abruptly, she turned, blindly opening a door and taking the turns at random until she couldn’t face it any longer and keeled over and began to sob. Loud, ugly, heart-wrenching noises escaped her. She sat and hugged her knees, drawing herself in as close as possible. She let the tears stream and felt an ease start in her throat and work itself down to her tight chest. 

She hadn’t realized how much she had been holding in. Hadn’t realized how much anger and hate she had directed at herself. Hadn’t realized how much she had been putting the worth of herself in the palms of others. She was disappointed she had lost sight of what was real and true and worth every ounce of pain. She had lost so much, but she still had so much more to give. Had so much love and hope and happiness for this world and its people. She felt ashamed for not trusting her friends to love her beyond being the Inquisitor, knew that she loved them for so much more than what they brought to the movement. 

She felt forgiveness begin to seep in and settle among her bones. She forgave herself for ignoring her grief. Forgave herself for not enjoying the little moments that made up life. Forgave herself for being cruel.

She stood up and wiped her face with the back of her hand. She wasn’t okay, but she would be, and that realization was salvation itself. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep, calming breath. As it filled her she thought, perhaps she had never felt such steadying calmness before. She was ready. She knew she was capable of picking herself up and dragging herself through whatever the future threw at her. But, she didn’t have to. She had people in her life to help her, she didn’t have to shoulder this burden alone.

For the first time in a long while, she walked straight to the rotunda. She allowed herself a slight breath of relief to find it empty, _baby steps._ She took the stairs and walked around to find Dorian perched languidly in an armchair.

“I need help,” she said. They synchronously clasped each other’s hands and leaned forward as she spilled her fears and grief. And right then, Lavellan took a step forward in healing and felt the first shattered piece mend itself back into her heart.


	13. Shooting Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone hates the Hissing Wastes BUT!!

The Inquisitor pressed into the ground letting the sand swallow their hand and then pulled it out gently, watching as the grains flowed back to collide with the whole. The rest of their party hated the barrenness of the Hissing Wastes, found the empty nothing terrifying to confront, but the Inquisitor felt drawn to this dead land, wondering if it had always been dead or if some catastrophic event changed its very essence. 

The Hissing Wastes refused to be marked, the roiling winds erasing every step taken. The Inquisitor loved that stubbornness, found it a redeeming quality. The days were difficult, the air thick with sand threatening to choke any who dared venture across, but the nights were even worse with the freezing cold creeping in, settling among joints, encouraging all to bury themselves in the sand in an effort to chase the memory of heat. 

The Inquisitor stood at the edge of a gaping trench, trying to trace the edge of the rocks for a hint of how far down the scar reached. As they looked at the snaking line stretching to the horizon they felt a strange kinship with this land, having also been marked in a split-second moment of time that erased every other path they had drawn for their future. They gazed towards the sky, breathing in, knowing no one would purposefully choose this role but could only lean in and provide what was expected. A shooting star grazed across the sky and both the Inquisitor and the Hissing Wastes felt forever was an enormity in which nothing is written.


End file.
